The girlfriend and I had brunch at Gigi’s Cafe the other day and I had what one might describe as an epiphany. Gigi’s is a quaint little establishment that caters predominantly to those who are on the wrong side of thirty plus the occasional migrant hipster. Not exactly an eclectic clientèle but one that nonetheless manages to habitually visit on an almost daily basis.
On this morning we lucked out in that we somehow managed to avoid both the breakfast and brunch rushes allowing us to walk straight up to the counter and immediately order. Our server was a surprisingly tall, cute Asian woman whose nationality was difficult to discern. This afforded my girlfriend of launching into her thesis on how impossibly cute Asian children are. But while the girls are forever in bloom the boys ripen rather early and rarely retain their cuteness after puberty.
Now she repeats this lecture nearly every time we encounter a cute Asian child, clearly alluding to the fact that she would love to adopt one. But I also know she is incapable of controlling her urges, and what would start out as her wanting to help a poor abandoned orphan would quickly morph her into the Angelina Jolie of East Asia, picking out one from every country to add to her collection. This in turn would usher in the day that I come home from work to find her children hermetically sealed so that she might eternally preserve their cuteness … what a legal nightmare that will be.
But my real dilemma came once our food was brought out to us. I had ordered a mushroom scramble and as I searched through the utensils I discovered we didn’t have have any forks. So I calmly went over to an empty table and rummaged through their silverware only to discover they didn’t have any forks either. So I lurched over to a third table and once again found a dearth of pronged utensils. Thus I came to the logically ridiculous conclusion that clearly Gigi’s had no forks and that I would now be forced to eat my eggs and a side of horseradish with a spoon..
So there I sat and calmly spooned up my eggs and dipped them in horseradish, content that I couldn’t possibly look like a buffoon because their simply were no forks in the entire cafe. Until I spied one. Ad another. And another. But I must say I was proud of myself. I could have had a meltdown and ruined both my and my girlfriend’s meal but I somehow found the strength to rationalize my predicament.
Now I couldn’t be the guy sitting next to us reading business manuals. Nor could I be that artsy guy behind us with his sketches splattered about the table. Or that guy waiting in line with the aviator glasses and sparkly silk shirt? I don’t ever want to be that guy. But the guy who is just a little left of center who has the slightly quirky method of eating eggs with a spoon? Yeah, I can be that guy. Which brings me to the movie about the guy who is trapped inside a painting as he is forced to continually watch an evil bed eat anyone who lays in it. Now that guy is just plain weird.
Now for a quick history lesson before I dive into my Death Bed: The Bed That Eats review. You see, the movie was made back in 1977 and never secured a release. But unbeknownst to director George Barry (amazingly enough Death Bed: The Bed That Eats is his only directing credit.) the film was pirated and quietly began circulating amongst the festival circuit. And as the film was shown to people something surprising happened: they liked it.
Soon pirated copies began appearing in other countries, dubbed into other languages by the growing zealous fan base. Then one magical fateful evening Barry was surfing the Internet when he happened onto a film forum that was discussing his movie. From that starting point he soon discovered that his film had been kept in circulation by this heretofore unknown fan base, and rather then be upset by these rampant acts of piracy, he embraced the community that so lovingly sustained his movie. Soon after he was able to find interest through some smaller studios, and sure enough, 25 years after the film wrapped it was released on DVD.
But what about the movie? Is it really worth all the effort put forth by fans to keep the film prevalent over the past 25 years? Well there are certainly rather glaring problems with the film. The storyline is nonsensical at best and the narrative is explained in such a disjointed and haphazard manner that it is quite clear several scenes were made up on the spot. The special effects range from bad to worse, the director seems positively obsessed with sexual themes that are never fully explored, and the acting is so awful that a piece of furniture clearly gives the least wooden performance of the entire cast.
But the surprising thing is that rather adroitly maneuvers around those obstacles and delivers an impressively satirical and original film. Barry clearly recognizes the absurdity of his film’s premise and rather then try and justify it he simply rolls with it, which in turn is highly effective at drawing the audience to the film’s oddly existential universe. When your initial scene showcases a bed that eats apples, buckets of chicken and gulps down a bottle of wine to wash it all down with you can’t help but wonder how on Earth the film could top such a ludicrous scene. Yet time and again Death Bed: The Bed That Eats ratchets up the insanity with unabashed glee.
While Death Bed: The Bed That Eats is almost unequivocally a comedy masquerading as a horror film, that isn’t to say it is without any bits of horror during the course of the film. Two particular moments stand out; the first involving a victim gamely trying to drag themselves free from the bed, while the other involves the bed eating someone’s hands. The first scene is initially played off as minor physical comedy but quickly morphs into a rather tense and drawn out affair. While the latter is a surprisingly gruesome and cringe worthy moment, exceptionally out of place with the rest of the effects. But Barry deftly steers the movie back to its lighter tone, snapping the viewer back from a horrific edge. And since this results in two of the better sight gags in the film, I am more then content with the rather silly course Barry is clearly more comfortable navigating.
Let there be no mistake that Death Bed: The Bed That Eats is pure trash of the highest order. Like its inevitable successor Evil Dead II, Death Bed: The Bed That Eats continually finds a way to turn seemingly low-brow film into an unmitigated romp that transcends any initial expectations one might have, no matter how high or low they may be. It is trashy enough to be considered exploitive. Violent enough to be thought of as demented. Possibly even artistic enough to be viewed as borderline pretentious. But it is also uncompromising in its goals, unwavering in its delivery and, thankfully, resolute in its ability to entertain. All this in spite of a 25 year trek to find an audience that was more then happy to wait for the film to finally arrive.
